


Order

by LadyVegeets



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Three Year Gap, Vegebul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25602613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVegeets/pseuds/LadyVegeets
Summary: Sometimes, Vegeta likes to give orders.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, VegeBul - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 186





	Order

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rutbisbe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutbisbe/gifts).



Though Vegeta identified first as a warrior, and second as a Saiyan Prince, in truth he had been raised a soldier.

Not by choice. It was the unfortunate consequence of being indentured into the Frieza Force at a young age. Many under Frieza’s yolk had eclipsed him both in rank and in power, and he soon learned to follow orders as a matter of survival.

It was a hard habit to break, or at least this was the justification he made whenever he found himself following _her_ orders.

“Stop! Don’t you _dare_ eat that.”

Vegeta paused— a drumstick held party-way raised to his mouth — and looked up at the teal-haired woman who had appeared on the other side of the kitchen counter. The tension crackled between them as lightning-blue eyes dared him to disobey. For half a second, he courted the idea.

It wouldn’t be the first time. He had ignored Bulma a lot when he first arrived, outright gone against her wishes just to assert his own dominance. After all, what right did _she_ have to order _him_ around? Only he soon found out that such instances lead to spectacular displays of petty revenge. The gravity chamber being the usual victim. It turned out that she was far smarter and craftier than he’d given her credit for. It was easier just to acquiesce to her commands rather than risk invoking her ire.

“Put. It. Down,” Bulma warned him in slow, deliberate syllables when he didn’t immediately comply. “That platter is for the party this evening. If you want some, you’ll have to attend.”

“I’m hungry _now_ ,” he huffed.

“I’ll make you a sandwich.”

He dropped the drumstick, grimacing — whether at her or himself, he couldn’t say. Bulma collected the platter, her expression softening into a smile, no doubt triumphant at getting him under heel. How he wished to wipe that pretty pink smirk off her face.

She re-wrapped the platter and prepared his meal. As he waited, the cat they called Scratch jumped up onto the bar stool next to him, black tail swishing, waiting to be fed too.

That Vegeta had been reduced to the status of a kept pet was not lost on him.

**~xox~**

* * *

He stepped out of the gravity chamber, the cool night air drying the rivulets of sweat on his skin. He wiped his brow on a small towel though it couldn’t wipe away the disappointment of another failed session. It didn’t matter how much gravity he brutalized himself with, he could never find that final hurdle to overcoming the Super Saiyan transformation.

He glanced towards the house. It seemed the party Bulma was hosting was winding down. _Good_. He didn’t fancy trying to sleep with all the ruckus of a social event going on, not to mention how much it bothered him to have strangers nearby. Her house or not, this was _his_ territory at the moment too and he didn’t appreciate the invasion.

He spotted her through the massive glass windows. She was hard to miss with her unique turquoise hair and a smile so bright it could rival suns. Tonight she wore a glittering cherry-red dress. He was used to seeing her in grease-stained overalls when she fixed the gravity chamber, or in a white lab coat as she worked on drones, or even in pajamas as she lounged about on the days she called ‘weekends’. This outfit was the antithesis to those. The red dress shimmered like the stars in the galaxy and hugged her soft full curves like water rippling over smooth rocks. Her curls were tamed artfully, her face delicately painted.

She looked like an empress. Perfect. Powerful. In control.

The antithesis to everything his life was.

Bulma glanced up from some small talk and made him out; there must have been just enough moonlight for her to do so. Her smile widened.

His chest tightened.

 _Hey_ , she mouthed, beckoning with her hand. _Come_.

And for a moment, he almost obeyed. A pavlovian response. An obedient dog heeding its master’s call.

He stopped himself before his legs could betray him. _What the fuck was he doing?_ He was a prince not a pet.

He was about to signal that _she_ could come _here_ if she had something to say, when he saw the arm wrap around her waist, pulling her against a strange man’s side.

Something dark and violent curled inside him. His fists clenched at his sides.

The stranger leaned in to whisper in her ear, and Bulma just _let him._

A headache building at his temples, Vegeta turned away and headed to the back entrance of the house where he could avoid the party altogether.

He thought defying her would taste more victorious; somehow, it felt like he had still lost.

**~xox~**

* * *

When he stepped out of his bathroom, freshly showered and in all but a towel at his waist, she was waiting in his bedroom. He didn’t know how to feel about that; annoyed at the intrusion, triumphant that _she_ had come to _him_.

And away from whoever that other man had been.

She was still dressed in her glittering elegance from the party. Stunning. Distractingly pretty. The dress must have been tailor made for her, revealing soft pale skin in tantalizing peeks where it didn’t drape to her like an obsessive lover. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe, saying nothing. It was an intimidation tactic that had served him well in the past.

“Why didn’t you join me?” she asked, one hand on her hip. “Didn’t you see me call you?”

He said nothing. Did nothing. Didn’t even blink. Just watched her with dark eyes and let her sweat.

“Hello, earth to Vegeta? I asked you a question. This is the part where you respond. It’s called having a conversation. Maybe you would be more familiar with the concept if you engaged a little more and huffed a little less. I was trying to tell you that there was still a bunch of food…”

He stopped paying attention, letting the crux of her words wash over him since they didn’t seem important. The silent treatment wasn’t working. He should have known Bulma wouldn’t be so easily cowed. He let her rant for as long as he could handle — which wasn’t much, his patience far too thin today — before he made his move.

He pushed off from the wall, strode the seven steps over to her until he was intimidatingly close, and grabbed her chin.

To her credit, she didn’t back up, but it did catch her off guard. She stopped mid-sentence when he touched her, staring up at him with big blue questioning eyes.

“Bulma?” he said, his tone dangerously sweet as he pulled her face closer to his. He could feel the heat of her against him. “ _Shut up._ ”

The flash of outrage in her eyes was unmistakable — breathtaking even. Fury burned bright on her cheeks. She sucked in a breath, no doubt gearing herself up to fight him on a cosmic-scale of tirades.

He stopped her dead in her tracks with a thumb to her lips. “I won’t repeat myself,” he warned in a low whisper that matched the whisper-touch of his thumb against her lips. His gaze lowered to her mouth. Those full pretty lips that vexed his waking hours. On an impulse, he traced his thumb over the swell of her bottom lip. It was as plump and soft as it looked.

Amazingly, she didn’t protest. It was like they were caught in a strange waking dream where the normal rules of her and him didn’t apply. His head pounded with a need he had been suppressing for far too long. Being this close to her was awakening hard-fought desires. The air thrummed with an energy that burned away the rest of the world until there was only her pretty pliable lips under the pad of his thumb.

“Open them,” he ordered.

Her eyes flashed with defiance. It amused him to see her struggle with taking an order. A taste of her own medicine. He half expected her to shove him away and storm out. But after a moment of internal warring, something softened in her eyes, and her lips parted.

Holy shit.

An animalistic part of his brain howled in triumph. He swelled in response beneath his towel.

Enthralled, barely able to comprehend this victory, he watched how her bottom lip gave way under his pressure just before pushing his thumb inside. “Suck it.”

She kept her gorgeous-blue eyes on him the whole time her full lips wrapped around his thumb and suckled. Wetly. Obscenely.

His erection throbbed with envy. Never had he been this fucking hard in his life.

He really should have taken his time, but he was impatient. Needy. Drunk on the sudden power high.

“Take it off,” he said, eyeing her dress.

With a few deft movements, the dress shimmered down her body and pooled at the floor. His jaw clenched at what he saw: she was fully naked underneath.

Another man had touched her when there had only been _a single strip of fabric between them?_

This he couldn’t let go unchallenged.

He scooped her up easily, his towel falling in the process. He did not care. She yelped with excitement as he carried her to the bed and threw her down, crawling up to meet her.

“Open them,” he growled. This time, he wasn’t talking about her lips.

She gave him a devil-may-care smile and waited until he was over her before complying, spreading her legs for him. He shoved them wider just to assert his authority before settling into position. He rubbed against her, slicking them both with her excitement.

Her breath shuddered out with a needy moan. “Oh, please don’t tease,” she whined, reaching for him.

“You’re not the one giving orders tonight.” To prove his point, he grabbed her hands and pinned her wrists to the pillow above her head. She didn’t protest. He took a moment to admire the sight of her beneath him, absorb the gift of her submission. It had been so long since he’d felt in control of anything, he had almost forgotten how sweet it tasted.

He leaned in, and to mask the kiss he placed at her temple, whispered, “Open up for me, Bulma.”

She did, and he sank inside, grateful.

**~xoXox~**

* * *

**AN:** inspired by RutBisbe’s art, _Open Them_.


End file.
